


just my type

by cranberrylime



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Boom! Cumshot!, Established Relationship, Facials, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Old Married Couple, Oral Sex, Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Secret Relationship, Spoilers, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranberrylime/pseuds/cranberrylime
Summary: "Sylvain and Felix don't get to see each other much after the war ends, but they make the best of the moments they can steal with one another."(Based on Twitter user @potatpancake'sNSFWSylvixfanart.)





	just my type

**Author's Note:**

> reader's advisory: this is based on fanart where felix is trans and sylvain goes down on him. descriptors used there include cock/clit, crotch, hood, entrance, inner walls, and lips (both the mouth kind and otherwise). thanks for reading my advisory

The War of the Flame Emperor ends much the same as every war has ever ended: with so, so much work for all the survivors to do in repairing their war-torn lands before they can even _think_ about resting their weary heads.

Sylvain inherits his father's title with so little fanfare that it almost feels like his parents conceding defeat. Being the Margrave was never what he wanted for himself, but things seem different during the months after the war in a way he can't put a finger on. Maybe it's because nobody has the energy — or the bravery, he thinks with a Felix-like internal scoff — to bring up Sylvain's persistent lack of a wife. Or maybe it's because, in Edelgard's wake, the whole continent seems to look a bit less reverently on Crests. The staff and assorted nobles of House Gautier keep looking to Sylvain for cues as to if they should be discussing Crests at all. Sylvain's only answer is a silence that they all wisely echo.

A laughing portrait of a younger Miklan hangs in the grand hall, staring down those who might think to broach the subject of the Gautier Crest first, and everyone bites their tongue.

"It'll be a good reminder for all of us," he'd told a visiting Ignatz as they'd worked out payment.

Ignatz hadn't so much as glanced up from sketching the wild fluff of Miklan's hair. "A reminder for _you_, you mean."

Feeling a bit too called out for comfort, Sylvain had laughed and thrown another three gold bouillons into the offer. Just because Ignatz was a genius and a visionary. Not because it was a bribe to keep him from telling anyone else that little fact, or anything.

Several weeks into that cycle of daily life and with the country putting itself back together again, Margrave life isn't going too badly for Sylvain. He doesn't mind routing bandits and resolving arguments between townspeople. That much is a breeze. Not different enough from his academy life almost six years prior to pose a challenge.

The only thing about being an adult with full-time responsibilities that really, truly _stings_ is how infrequently Sylvain gets to see Felix.

Letters are nice enough; better than nothing at all, he supposes. But the prospect of an over-eager butler reading his words keeps Sylvain from saying certain things as openly as he'd want to. No way he wanted that kind of rumor flying around before Felix was ready to confirm it as fact. The contents of Felix's replies seem even more fraught and tightly-worded, if the layers on layers of indented (but invisible) words from discarded letters are any indication, with an awkward stiffness that makes Sylvain fond. Nosy household staff are a universal constant.

Things work best for both of them if none of their love letters ever contain the word "love", Sylvain keeps reminding himself, and he's only being pathetic by looking a gift bear in the mouth.

Still, though. It'd be nice to hear it every once in a while.

That longing builds and builds over their long weeks apart until Sylvain can't take it anymore. He steals away in the dead of night and rides for Fraldius territory like a man possessed. It isn't a long ride, but every second that ticks by until Sylvain is finally shoving the reins at a confused stablehand — "M-M-Margrave Gautier? What's going on?" — might as well have been endless. He's in such a rush that he doesn't even answer the poor man on his mad dash to meet the expectant Duke Fraldarius.

Felix.

Despite the fact that it was so early that even milkmaids wouldn't think of rising, Felix is already waiting in the foyer for him when Sylvain hurries past guards and opens the door himself. His messy black hair is tied up in the same chaotic ponytail that Sylvain hasn't been able to stop thinking about, the curve of his neck exposed in Felix's well-used training garb. Had he been working himself half to death with nobody around to look out for him? The tips of Sylvain's fingers itch with the urge to touch. Anywhere. Everywhere.

It's a blessing he holds still until Felix dismisses the guards and draws closer to him.

"What's —"

_Don't get a boner yet,_ Sylvain orders himself, and then rushes forward to throw his arms around a surprised Felix.

"I was — let go of me, you buffoon!" There's a hefty flush to Felix's cheeks as he tries to pry himself free, sharp eyes searching Sylvain's, unable to hide his concern. "Why, in the name of Fódlan, are you _here_? Has something happened? Should I sound the alarm?"

Sylvain spends about five seconds thinking about better answers before settling on the truth. "Can't I just miss you?"

The distance between them grows as Felix steps back and folds his arms.

"Go home."

Despite the iciness in his tone, the heat hasn't left Felix's face. His wandering eyes linger on Sylvain's body, from the width of his chest to the ties of his riding pants, before Felix catches Sylvain staring back and averts his eyes. This much blatant lust in Felix's gaze — well, as blatant as Felix ever lets himself be about that type of thing — sends a hungry thrill down Sylvain's spine. He's been desired by other people before, sure. Lots of people have wanted to sleep with the heir to the Gautier house for one reason or another.

None of those times were anything like this. Never had anyone wanted him so genuinely or in a way that spoke so clearly to months of desperation like Felix's uneven breathing did.

"Go home," Felix repeats, as if either of them want that to happen. As if Sylvain is actually going to.

Careful and steady enough that both of them watch the slow movement together, Sylvain reaches out to rest a hand on his boyfriend's waist. The fabric under his hands is soft, pliant, and Felix doesn't move a muscle as Sylvain slides his hand down and thumbs across the skin underneath. His scar-crossed body is running hot enough that Sylvain almost stops to ask if he's got a fever.

Almost.

Because that's when Felix jumps him.

Sylvain realizes he's being guided backwards towards the desk in the same moment that Felix's lips meet his. It's a hungry, pleading kiss, all of Felix's loneliness and want packed into a single moment, and it's one that's met in turn with just as much need. When Felix bites Sylvain's lower lip, Sylvain relents, opening his mouth for Felix to explore it with his tongue. He cups Felix's ass in both hands and squeezes, earning a shocked gasp and another bite. Perfect.

It wouldn't be sex with Sylvain and Felix if there weren't a dozen bite marks at the end of it, after all.

One of Felix's hands is already undoing Sylvain's pants before Sylvain withdraws his own hands to take off Felix's shirt — the shirts are such an inconvenience, because they have to stop kissing, and Sylvain doesn't ever want to stop kissing him ever again. As soon as both shirts and pants fall to the floor, Felix crashes their mouths together demandingly in a way that's a little scary and a _lot_ sexy. Sylvain would've gotten half-hard from that alone if the heat of their bodies reuniting and Felix tugging his underwear down hadn't already gotten him well on his way.

His dick springs free into the chilly air. Frowning at how it's starting to soften a bit in the cold, Sylvain reaches down — only to be stopped by Felix slapping his hand away.

"No," Felix orders.

Both of them stare at Sylvain's dick as it twitches in response. Felix looks somewhere between smug and flattered, watching his boyfriend react so obviously to a simple command, and seems to settle on amused fondness. A tiny smirk lurks at the corner of his mouth as he kneels, hitching Sylvain's bare legs over his shoulders. For his part, Sylvain is content to let Felix take the lead and get things started, to let the host set the pace in his own home.

Except that Felix doesn't touch it.

Despite the fact that he's close enough for his heavy breath to make a spurt of precum leak down Sylvain's shaft, Felix only looks. He tilts his head back and forth, examining Sylvain's inner thighs thoughtfully, as if there's anything new he could possibly learn that he doesn't have extensive familiarity with already. That blush has spread from Felix's face down his neck as his face remains completely stoic in the face of — well, of Sylvain's boner, which is starting to get a little bit painful.

"Come on," Sylvain finally pleads while he runs a hand through his own hair. "You're killing me here."

They both know that he's enjoying it. Enjoying the way his dick throbs when Felix frowns up at him, silently scorning Sylvain's impatience. Having someone as stunning as Felix an inch away from his crotch is far more action than he's gotten in the last few months; that's not to even mention how madly, stupidly in love he is with Felix, which itself might merit the two of them sitting there for another hour. Or however long Felix intends to keep him trapped here in sex purgatory.

Sylvain _would_ still like to cum, though. Any time now would be great. Whenever's convenient.

Thankfully, Felix has enough mercy in his heart that he can tell it's getting painful, meeting Sylvain's eyes as he presses a kiss to the tip. A shudder wracks Sylvain's body helplessly. It's been so long, too long. There's no telling how long he's going to last like this, not with Felix actually here in front of him, instead of being relegated to his fantasies and those letters (and Sylvain's endless fantasies about those letters). No amount of lonely late-night masturbation compares to actually getting some late-night head. It's simple math.

All thoughts of math and letters fly straight out of Sylvain's head as Felix kisses the base of his dick, then ducks a bit further to drag his knuckle along the skin between Sylvain's balls and his ass.

Thing is, blowjobs that only focus on the dick? They're great! Sylvain isn't about to dispute that. He's definitely pro-blowjob, both giving and recieving, and he'd go on any official Fódlan record saying as much if he wasn't half-sure that Felix would never sleep with him again. Felix's blowjobs are top-notch, the product of some careful advice — via Sylvain and, unfortunately for them all, Dimitri — combined with his natural desire to master everything he set out to learn.

But not a single thing on the entire planet can ever compare to the feeling of Felix's steady, focused fingers rubbing Sylvain's taint as he licks a slow stripe from base to tip. Like the cherry on a sundae, it ties the whole experience together and sends Sylvain spiraling on an out-of-body trip straight to heaven.

Not that actual cherries do that to him. Sylvain isn't so great at metaphors when the head of his dick is disappearing into another man's mouth.

"Please," Sylvain gasps at the sudden heat. "Yes, fuck, yes, please! Felix!"

Felix draws back and wraps his calloused fingers around the shaft, a self-satisfied look in his eyes; his other hand grasps Sylvain's thigh firmly enough to bruise and digs nails into the sensitive skin. The mounting pressure turns into a live wire as Sylvain feels his whole body tense up.

"Are you getting cl —"

The words sputter out into stunned silence as Sylvain cums all over his face.

_Goddess, how does he keep getting so much better at that,_ Sylvain's brain manages in the post-orgasm haze, followed immediately by a more coherent _fuck, he's going to politically assassinate me._

"Sylvain," Felix says, his voice dangerously level. It's a command and a threat rolled all into one.

With no small amount of regret, Sylvain lifts himself up a bit more onto his elbows and peers down at the love of his life. There's cum streaked everywhere in Felix's face and bangs, even some that landed in his open mouth and across his eye, which he's wisely elected to squint shut. Sylvain thinks that he can never, ever tell Felix how hot he looks like this.

But words for anything better to say are completely failing him.

"…Sorry?"

The murderous look in Felix's eyes — well, _eye_ — only intensifies. "Are you? Are you fucking sorry?"

"Yes?"

_Not really._

Felix relinquishes his grip on Sylvain's softening dick and stands, turning to the wash basin with towels a few steps away. Being so suddenly abandoned makes Sylvain keenly aware of the frigid atmosphere in the room again. It's only then that he realizes that Felix didn't even take his own pants off, a realization spurred by his brain's automatic desire to look at Felix's ass. (It's a nice ass, so sue him!) Looking at the situation objectively, Sylvain's been a real asshole here, hasn't he? He's already gotten off. Felix, who's finished drying his face and looks about ready to kick his boyfriend out, definitely hasn't.

The marble floor is freezing under his feet as Sylvain moves forward and catches Felix's firm wrist.

"Let me make it up to you," he offers, feeling the pulse under his fingertips speed up. "Can I blow you?"

With a scoff, Felix glances back over his shoulder. There's an undeniable spark of interest in Sylvain's proposition written all over his face; although he may wear his desires less out on his sleeve and more tucked away under three layers of overcoats, Felix loves sex at _least_ as much as Sylvain does, especially when he can be convinced to let Sylvain dote on him.

"Please let me blow you," Sylvain says.

That seems to be persuasive enough to get Felix to link their fingers and tug him forward. Keeping his tiny victory dance to himself — a dance even Dedue sadly deemed "impossible to follow" — Sylvain lets himself be dragged along.

When Felix pushes an errant book back into place on the shelf, a secret door pops open to beckon them beyond. Sylvain gapes at it like there aren't thirty of those things in his own home, marvels at the unexpected secret as Felix leads him by the hand into the bedroom on the other side.

They're met with a messy, disorganized living space that looks like it's been crammed into a broom closet. A bedbroom closet, if you will. Crammed against the far wall is a bed only barely big enough for two people, blankets mussed and pillows thrown everywhere, with war diagrams stacked sky-high on every available surface. The magical bookshelf door slams behind them and dims the room to the same half-lighting that Sylvain knows Felix can't sleep without. Everything here is so distinctly _Felix_ that looking around makes Sylvain the tiniest bit homesick for something he can't name.

"Whoaaaaaaa," Sylvain breathes.

Felix starts to recline on the bedspread, frowning, and yanks his unlaced pants free. "Don't make that noise. It's repulsive."

The frame creaks underneath them as Sylvain straddles a now-naked Felix. Instead of responding with the witty retort he _definitely_ had, he brings their lips together in a slow kiss, feeling Felix melt underneath him. One of Sylvain's hands trails up to cup Felix's cheek and rub the sensitive spot under his jaw. There's a pleasant friction as their bodies meld together under the lamplight, a proper reunion after so long apart.

After a few minute of those gentle, increasingly exploratory kisses, Sylvain slides that hand down, down, until he's trailing the line of Felix's crotch. Felix nods frantically in a plea for him to continue. He teases his fingers against Felix's cock, sucking in a breath at the feel of all of it twitching under his thumb. And then gasping again as Felix sinks his teeth into Sylvain's lower lip, a tiny bit of blood prickling up in his wake, before burying his face in Sylvain's shoulder.

Sylvain would stay like this forever if he could. Odds were pretty good that he could probably get Felix to cum with his fingers alone. Not that he's bragging, or anything, just that it's something he's had a lot of extremely confident practice with.

Something about that doesn't seem completely fair, though, especially since they'd agreed to something a lot more fun. Sylvain is determined to keep his promise down to the wording, so he pulls away from Felix and drops to hook both legs over his shoulders. It's a seamless movement that's in no way slowed by having to make sure Sylvain's legs stay on the bed. Only a little bit awkward. Really, it's kind of unfair for Felix to start snickering at him so obviously.

There's a lot of things Sylvain isn't good at. He's the first to admit that when anyone asks. But this is one of the things that he _is_ good at, particularly in regards to Felix, and Sylvain considers his approach for a few teasingly silent seconds before diving in. A hand rubs along the inside of a scarred thigh as Sylvain runs his tongue along Felix's lips, spreading them with his other hand enough to lick the inside walls. The choked-off hiss of _Sylvain_ feels almost like a reward. Leaning in a little further, Sylvain answers with a hum and teases at Felix's entrance with his tongue.

Ignoring Felix's cock for now is part of Sylvain's carefully-crafted master plan. But Felix, who doesn't give a shit about any of Sylvain's plans, thumps a foot into Sylvain's back threateningly.

"Put my clit in your mouth or I'll rip all your hair out," Felix snarls.

The look in his eye is murderous at best — that much intense fury seriously shouldn't make Sylvain's dick half-hard, flagging to attention, or give his heart this fluttery feeling. And yet, it does. So intensely that it almost hurts. Sylvain is well aware that he's long past the point of just being regularly lovestruck and into desperately devoted, but that's a confession for another time, a time when Felix isn't on the verge of choking him out with his thighs.

(That actually sounds sort of fun, now that he thinks of it. An idea he'll keep in his back pocket.)

Felix is worth anything he might demand of Sylvain, even things that aren't half as fun as what he's currently demanding. So Sylvain presses his tongue flat against his cock. He works his mouth and laves from clit to hood and back again as Felix howls every swear known to man above him. There's a moment where Felix starts to buck his hips up into Sylvain's mouth, so he grabs his legs and squeezes as if to say _I'd stop you if I wanted to._

Thankfully, Felix seems to get the message; he grabs hold of Sylvain's messy hair to rock back and forth, dragging himself across the heat of a compliant Sylvain's extended tongue. Watching Felix's face flush and his eyes grow increasingly desperate as he uses Sylvain's mouth is enough to make Sylvain really, really hard again.

It's no surprise to either of them when Felix throws his head back and cums against Sylvain's mouth. His entire body arches, strung taut — then Felix collapses, going completely boneless and limp against the pillows, lost in the post-orgasm glow. That's a sight that reminds Sylvain his own dick needs some attention, so he rests his face against the inside of Felix's thigh and wraps a hand around himself.

Staying in the same position while getting his hips free enough to jerk off is a little bit of an obstacle, Sylvain quickly realizes. Just as quickly, he realizes that he doesn't need anything as fancy as his own hand, taking advantage of the leverage and grinding down into pliant blankets. His dick drags across the fabric in a pathetic gesture he'll wince at later, but that's not so important, at the moment. Not when Sylvain can stare at the firm, scarred lines of Felix's body, taking in muscle and injury and the soft flush of embarrassment in Felix's expression while Sylvain ruts against his bedspread.

With a jolt, he realizes that Felix is looking back at him.

"Do you have to stare?"

The question puzzles Sylvain. His blood isn't exactly all in his brain at the moment, so he can't figure out why in all of Fódlan he should be expected to _not_ stare at someone as radiant as Felix is. Everything about him is perfect, unbelievably sexy even in the movement of averting his eyes and pretending that he can't tell exactly what Sylvain is thinking. As if Sylvain can't tell that Felix is sneaking glances back over while he pretends to scowl.

"Yeah," Sylvain answers simply. "I love you."

Felix's eyes go wide with longing, shock, relief, or some strange mixture of the three. The pressure is mounting in Sylvain's body; he moves faster, licking the cum off his lips and meeting Felix's searching gaze. His heart feels impossibly full. This is all he's wanted for so, so long, to be right back here again.

"I love _you_," Felix says. The look on his face has softened in a warm, loving way that Felix never shows anybody except him.

That smile is all Sylvain needs. With one last delirious thrust, his brain goes white and the room disappears around him, spinning into a brainless freedom. He's only dimly aware of Felix pulling away from him and walking off to do something, but Sylvain is sorely disappointed for the loss.

By the time Felix returns, Sylvain is a little more lucid, a little privately embarrassed about what he did to the place Felix sleeps. (_The throes of passion are dangerous_, he muses to himself, then decides that he sounds way too much like Lorenz and abandons that train of thought entirely.) Sylvain's gathering up the messy bedspread when he glances back to see a fully-clothed Felix ducking in the passageway with a fresh one; it's a moment so domestic that Sylvain lets himself dream about a life where they could be themselves without titles. Just Felix and Sylvain.

The fantasy doesn't last long.

"Burn that thing," says Felix. "To ensure that my maids will never know I have sex. Particularly not with Margrave Gautier."

Sylvain blinks away the insult to his family title, as automatic as breathing, if not as equally a vital part of his daily life. "Wait, then where'd you get a new one of those so quickly?"

"Took it. I own the damn place. So all of this is mine."

There's a beat of silence after Felix's dismissive quip before they both smile. Some of the stress has already lifted from Felix's tightly-set brow, so Sylvain presses a kiss to his forehead as he walks up with the bundle of fabric. Felix huffs, but doesn't move, letting his head thump forward onto Sylvain's shoulder tiredly.

"Let's get you into bed," Sylvain says.

"You're one to talk," Felix mumbles. "All you ever write me about is how much you overwork yourself…"

Feeling sorely sorry for all that time they'd both spent working instead of in each others' arms, Sylvain kisses the top of Felix's head, the two of them leaning together for another moment. Then they separate and replace the blanket, Felix smoothing it down as if they aren't about to immediately mess that up again.

"I'm not moving over for you," Felix tells Sylvain as his hands disassemble all his training gear again with great precision. "I'm sleeping in the middle."

Sylvain snorts. "Oh, yeah?"

Both of them clamber into bed and settle into their spots. Sure enough, Felix is dead center, head resting on his favorite pillow. But the mattress is easily big enough for Sylvain to slide in behind, wrapping his beloved Duke Fraldarius up in his arms. The skin-on-skin contact is a comforting balm on the cold emptiness of longing.

Having Felix in his arms like this feels natural. All these past nights that he's been without this — and all those nights where Sylvain will be alone from tomorrow on — are ones he feels like he both can face and can't possibly deal with at all. This future they've chosen together seems so bleak and yet so…

What words can he even use to describe Felix? How much Felix matters to him? Every single way that Felix improves his life? For once, Sylvain's at a loss.

"I missed you," says Felix.

The rare admission of raw feeling makes Sylvain's heart pound. He wraps his arms around Felix tighter and squeezes like his life depends on it.

"I missed you, too."

And there they stay, curled up together, until they finally drift off to sleep at the exact same time.

**Author's Note:**

> been sick for a week and slapped together something fun. again, these are based on @potatpancake's killer pieces, which are [both](https://twitter.com/potatpancake/status/1180552087597469697) [NSFW](https://twitter.com/potatpancake/status/1180552284788408320)


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